


But I love you so

by creativemackie



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Blood and Injury, M/M, canon violence, retelling of canon events, title and summary from “i love you so” by the walters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativemackie/pseuds/creativemackie
Summary: I hope you feel what I feelWhen you shattered my soulCause you were cruel and I’m a foolSo please let me goBut I love you soI love you soI love you soI love you so
Relationships: Mr. Orange/Mr. White (Reservoir Dogs)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	But I love you so

-

Freddy spent weeks with White. He didn’t know his real name, just as White didn’t know Freddy’s, and instead opted to call him by his pseudonym Orange. Most times, though, White called him ‘kid.’ He didn’t mind. 

Freddy tried hard to keep his focus, worrying about the future of his career, but the career criminal he sat next to every other day preoccupied his mind. Realistically, Freddy knew that the chances of their relationship going beyond the job were slim, but some part of him still held out hope. Maybe his hopefulness–though White never knew exactly what for–was something he wore on his sleeve. Maybe this, paired with his small stature and fresh face, had been what earned him the nickname ‘kid.’ 

He wanted White to trust him, and he believed that maybe he already did. Even when Joe hadn’t ordered them to conduct a stakeout, they managed to find ways to spend time together. They were both bored, having spent the last few weeks waiting around in motels and apartments, and Freddy needed to collect information to give back to the LAPD. 

The LAPD. 

The thoughts of a promotion weighed heavy on Freddy’s mind. On one hand, he liked being Mr. Orange. He was someone new, someone more loose and cool than Freddy. Freddy was a cop. He knew that if his cover was blown, no matter how fondly White may speak to him, White hated cops. He’d kill him without warning, without hesitation, because after all, this was business. He knew it was dangerous to tread on thin ice, but White drew him in. Time spent with the older man was dangerous because it pushed the truth further back in Freddy’s mind, but he’d be damned if he didn’t want the extra time around his counterpart. 

-

Midday taco runs, inside jokes, fond glances and subtle touches. Those were the things Freddy associated with White–or Larry–as he’d come to find out in the car. 

Those were things he tried to think about as his body lay against cold concrete, blood slowly soaking the floor. The air was thick, the metallic smell and the California heat mixing unpleasantly, making Freddy’s stomach lurch against the pain of the bullet wound. 

“Gonna be just fine, kid,” Larry reassured. 

“‘m scared, Larry,” he’d replied, voice gravelly and harsh against his throat. He felt the searing pain from the gunshot everywhere in his body, not just his gut, and it made him cry out and writhe on the ground, his limbs seeming to have a mind of their own. Nerve damage, he’d thought absentmindedly. 

Could be nerve damage. 

“It’s alright to be scared,” the older man said with a nod, looking down at Freddy. As he studied Larry’s face, first noting the fear and sadness etched into the furrow of his brow and the downward tilt of his mouth, he began to see the age showing on his skin. Years of stress sculpted deep wrinkles into Larry’s skin, and for a moment, Freddy imagined what he might have looked like at his age. 

Larry’s voice hovering above him pulls him from his thoughts, the comfort of familiarity distracting him from the pain. 

“You been brave enough for one day, just relax now,” and suddenly Freddy can’t relax. He’s reminded of everything that went wrong, everything he saw, and the woman that he killed. These thoughts draw a strangled cry from his throat, the sound surprising them both, but Freddy can’t help it. He’s scared shitless, bleeding out on some warehouse floor, and Larry has no idea that they’re playing for two different teams. 

He wishes he’d been on Larry’s team from the start. 

“I’m gonna fuckin’ die here, man,” he weeps, hitting his head against the floor. He feels a hand, Larry’s hand, gently cupping the back of his head. 

“Not gonna die,” Larry repeats, and Freddy knows he’ll say it as many times as he needs to until he believes it himself. 

“Can you hold me?” Freddy asks, and when he feels Larry’s position shift, he realizes how fucked his situation truly is. He loves the hardened criminal next to him, and he thinks maybe Larry loves him, too. But Larry doesn’t know the truth and oh god Larry doesn’t know he’ll kill him he’ll kill him he has to tell him-

“Stay with me, kid, we’re waitin’ for Joe. He’ll be here soon, fix you right up,” he says, gently nudging Freddy to keep his attention. “Who’re we waitin’ for?” 

“Joe,” he replies breathlessly.

“That’s right, kid, you’re doin’ real good.” 

But he isn’t. He’s the exact opposite of real good, he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He knows he probably isn’t making it out of here alive, but dying here in Larry’s arms is a lot less painful than watching his colleagues arrest Larry, seeing the look of betrayal on the man’s face. Freddy allows himself to sink further into Larry’s side, craving some semblance of comfort amidst the chaos. 

-

Freddy has no idea how much time has passed. Hours, maybe? He glances around the room, hearing voices to his left, and he sees Mr. Blonde torturing someone, and it’s then that he realizes the man in the chair is one of his own. A police officer, and a young one at that. 

Fuck this job, he thinks to himself. 

It’s only when Mr. Blonde leaves and then re-enters the warehouse with gasoline that Freddy realizes where this situation is about to go. And yeah, fuck this job, he thinks again as the adrenaline starts to build. 

Before Blonde can put the flame to the floor, Freddy cocks his gun and empties the magazine without flinching. He knows this makes things messy, and he knows he’ll have to explain himself without creating suspicion, but he also knows he had to do the right thing. He couldn’t let one of his own die to save face. 

He talks to the guy, Marvin Nash, and realizes they’ve met. Marvin knows Freddy is a cop. Freddy knows he should be scared because someone else knows, but he isn’t. All he feels is exhaustion, the adrenaline crash and the blood loss causing his vision to blur. He lies back down, the cold concrete cooling his clammy skin. 

He relaxes again and waits for the moment when he has to explain himself. 

-

The moment comes sooner than expected, and much sooner than Freddy wanted. 

Nice Guy Eddie is staring a hole through him as Larry stands in front of Freddy, and Freddy’s blood runs cold when he sees Joe. He tries to stay level, recanting the story to the group of men, the pack of wolves, but Joe stops him. 

“This fucker’s a rat,” Joe states coldly. Larry jumps to Freddy’s defense, calling the accusation a mistake, but Joe Cabot was never one to back down. 

No one listens to Freddy, the weak link, the kid. He learns that Joe never trusted him, and Freddy knows he was right to doubt him. For the second time that day, Freddy has a gun aimed at him, the only difference is this time he’s aware enough to feel scared. Larry, the only one to believe in Freddy a hundred percent, points his gun at Joe. He begs him not to shoot, while Eddie aims directly at Larry. It’s a shit-show, Freddy thinks, but the sound of three guns firing is enough to stop his thoughts in their tracks. 

He feels another hit. 

Joe shot him, and he knows that Larry might be dead, because each man fired a shot. He hears coughing, wheezing, the sounds of someone in pain, and he doesn’t know whether it’s himself or someone else. Only when he sees Larry crawling toward him does he realize who the source of the sound is. 

Once again his position is shifted, Larry coming up behind him to hold his head in his lap, offering comfort for the second time that day. 

“I’m sorry, kid. Looks like we’re gonna have to do some time,” he says through a cough, and Freddy wonders if Larry hopes they’ll do that time together. 

Except only one of them knows that they won’t. 

“I’m a cop,” Freddy whispers, and he knows he hasn’t been heard because Larry is still smoothing back his sweat-soaked hair. 

“Larry, I’m sorry,” he chokes out, “I’m a cop.” 

Larry freezes, no more comfort, no more caressing. Freddy opens his eyes, staring up at a now broken man. He sees the pain, the betrayal, the confusion, and realizes that Larry must be going through every stage of grieving at once. Freddy knows the exact moment he reaches anger, because he feels cold metal pressed against his cheek. 

He knows that this is how it ends, but he’d rather die a man free of guilt by the hand of his lover than any other way. He hears the sirens closing in, the distant sound of voices, but he can’t make out what they’re saying. He feels hot tears dripping onto his face from above, and wishes he and Larry had a different outcome. The last thing he hears is the cry of a man who lost everything. 

Bam.


End file.
